


Not Another Last Goodbye

by blatheringbluejay



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 18:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blatheringbluejay/pseuds/blatheringbluejay
Summary: It seems everyone Newt cares for leaves him somehow.  He's determined to end the cycle.





	Not Another Last Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Please note there is a scene that includes somewhat dubious consent of a non-explicit sexual act. Please let me know if you feel I should change the rating or add stronger warnings.
> 
> I started writing this before most of what we know about The Crimes of Grindelwald had been released (so...a WHILE ago), and so Leta's future connection to Newt's life hadn't been something I'd considered at the time. For the purposes of this fic - suffice it to say he expects he may never see her again.
> 
> This is also not anti-Leta. She acts without thinking, but it's not overtly malicious.
> 
> I ALSO wrote and published this before there was any mention at all of salamanders, eyes or otherwise, and admittedly I wasn't familiar enough with the actual Fantastic Beasts text to know that J.K. Rowling apparently decided to make ~magical~ salamanders be lizards. So. Keep that in mind, I guess.

When Newt is seven years old his best friend is Eliza Ellerbee, who lives in the next house down the lane.  They spend their summers meeting in the field that connects their two properties and catching grasshoppers and snails - giving them names and stories and imagining what their lives and thoughts are like.  Sometimes Newt brings paper and pencils and the two make drawings of the creatures they find (though they are never very good, because the creatures don’t often decide to stay still when confronted with over-eager seven-year-olds).  Once or twice they find a billiwig, and horklumps are abundant enough to become subjects of experimentation, but the more interesting magical creatures of the world (or, England, anyway) remain considerably more elusive (with the exception of his mother’s hippogriffs, of course, but the children have strict instructions to remain outside their enclosure without supervision - a rule which Newt has broken enough times to give his mum cause to magically enhance the fence to keep out anyone under the age of twelve).

 

When they run out of creatures to catch, they climb up on the big tree in the far corner of the field - one with a low, thick branch that’s grown sideways rather than up - and sit facing each other, legs swinging, as they talk about their future plans and how great it’ll be to finally get to go to Hogwarts.  Newt waves a stick as an imaginary wand, and the two make up utterly ridiculous fake spells that leave them giggling and breathless. There’s another branch on the tree that’s just perfect for hanging upside-down from, and they hook their legs over it and pretend to be bats until their faces turn red and their heads hurt.  It’s entirely “improper” for a girl her age to climb trees and come home covered in grass stains, but Liza doesn’t care and Newt wrinkles his nose at the very idea of propriety. 

 

“I’m moving away” she announces solemnly one day when they’re both ten.  “America. For work, Dad said.” She stares at her feet and kicks at a clump of dried grass a little harder than seems strictly necessary.

 

“Oh,” Newt replies, crushed.  His eyes grow watery as he looks down as well.  Times have been tough for many, wizard and muggle alike, and even children have heard the rumors of opportunity overseas.  The Scamanders aren’t among the wealthiest or most well-established wizard families, but they have a pureblood name (for whatever that’s worth) and enough to be more than comfortable.  The Ellerbees have neither - both of Liza’s parents are muggle-born - and the prejudices surrounding their heritage certainly don’t help them find options for their financial situation. 

 

“Well,” he began, shuffling his feet awkwardly and struggling to find some way to break the silence, “now I won’t know anyone at Hogwarts next year, except Theseus, but he hardly counts.”

 

“How do you think I feel?” Liza moaned.  “I don’t even get to go to Hogwarts. I have to go to some American school.  Liver-moan-y or something, Mum said. It sounds awful.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Newt says, for lack of anything else to say.  

 

They spend their last afternoon together in their tree, a solemn silence permeating the air as both try to ignore the inevitable parting that’s about to happen.

 

“I’ll miss you,” Liza finally says, sniffling.

 

“I’ll miss you too,” Newt replies, equally emotional.  “You’re my best friend, you know. My only friend, really.”

 

“You’ll make friends at Hogwarts, I’m sure of it,” she tries to sound hopeful on his behalf, but her voice cracks.

 

Newt is much less certain - even at his young age he’s aware that he’s “odd” - but he nods anyway, and tries to smile.  Neither can quite look at each other to maintain the lie that it’ll all be all right.

 

Liza’s hand moves to tentatively cover his, and Newt, startled, quickly tilts his head up.

 

“Newt?” she begins as she hesitantly lifts her own eyes up to his.  “Would you...kiss me goodbye?”

 

“W-what?” he all but squeaks out, feeling entirely blindsided by the request.

 

She smiles then, a small, but genuine, quirk of her lips.  “I rather...fancy you, you know. I kinda thought maybe, when we were older…” she shrugs, as though unsure exactly how to finish the thought.

 

“Oh.” is all Newt can say as he feels heat creep into his face.  He can’t say he  _ hadn’t _ considered the possibility of one day there being something else between them as they grew up and grew closer.  They were best friends, and she liked creatures, and he couldn’t imagine ever meeting someone he’d get on with as well as her.  That was what adults did, he thought, they married people they were friends with so they never had to say goodbye at the end of the day.  All of his and Liza’s talks about adventures in far off places tracking down the most wonderful creatures...he couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.

 

“You’re blushing,” Liza giggled slightly, pulling him out of his dazed shock at her confession.  “D’you...like me too?”

 

“I…” Newt honestly wasn’t sure how to answer that.  He hadn’t really thought of her as a  _ girl _ before, just as his best friend.  But he does like her very much, so he shrugs and answers, “yes, I suppose.”

 

It’s not exactly a grand declaration, but Liza smiles anyway, and her face is as red as his as she leans forward to quickly peck his lips.  It’s over in an instant, but with that honest bit of emotion Newt is suddenly struck with the huge weight of what is about to happen - that his only friend is about to leave him.  Tears roll freely down his flaming cheeks as he scooches himself toward her and pulls her into a hug. Their knees bump together where they are still seated on their tree branch, and it’s an awkward angle for a hug, but neither cares as they openly cry against one another.

 

They promise to write, of course.  But letters grow less frequent and eventually stop - childhood friends drifting apart as they often do.  Newt remembers her fondly when he thinks of his early years, and hopes that wherever she is, if she ever has cause to reminisce about their summer days together, that she does so with a smile.

 

* * *

 

His first week at Hogwarts could have gone better.  He gets sorted into Hufflepuff, which Theseus teases him mercilessly about.  Scamanders have always been in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Scamanders are not Hufflepuffs.  HE doesn’t think it’s disappointing, as history is full of many fine examples of notable Hufflepuffs, and he knows his parents would never come right out and declare him a family disappointment, but he can tell there’s a bit of a “where did we go wrong?” feeling emanating from them when they learn of his sorting.  He’s always felt like an odd child, and now it’s been confirmed to him and to the world. 

 

His sour attitude about his (perfect, never disappointing) brother’s laughter causes him to snap a bit at the Hufflepuffs seated next to him at their (his) table when they try to befriend him.  He manages to bungle up three more attempts at friendship by others before everyone eventually stops trying. Who wants to be friends with the strange kid who’s always frowning and won’t even look at you when you’re trying to talk to him?

 

At the close of his first disastrous week he’s isolated himself in a secluded spot among some shrubs on the school grounds.  He’s started reading ahead through his herbology text (it’s by far his favorite subject thus far - there’s no class on creatures, but plants are the next best thing, and he wants to learn the names and uses for all of them), when he feels a light tickling sensation in his hair.  Reaching up, he retrieves the source of the disturbance and opens his hand to find a small salamander. 

 

“Well, hello,” he greets it with a smile, “you’re a ways away from water, aren’t you?  Are you in your eft stage, then?” The small creature looks at him and bobs its head in a way that almost makes it appear to be nodding in the affirmative.  “Well then. Hello from one Newt to another.” He grins at his pun, pleased with himself and also enjoying this small moment of connection to another living thing.

 

The moment is short-lived, however, as loud voices break through the silence.  “Did you hear something?” one voice asks.

 

“Yeah,” the other confirms.  “There’s someone hidin’ in the bushes.”

 

And without warning, Newt is dragged from his hiding place by the back of his robe and pulled to his feet.  Looking up, he finds himself face-to-chest with a burly older boy - Slytherin by the color of his tie. Standing next to him is another boy of the same age.

 

“Whaddarya doin’, spyin’ on us from the bushes?” 

 

“N-no,” Newt shakily denies, “I didn’t even know anyone was there.  I was just reading.”

 

“Oh yeah?” the second boy asks, leaning closer to peer at Newt’s hand, where the little salamander is still held, protectively enclosed by his fingers, “What’ve you got, there?”

 

Newt reluctantly opens his hand.  “It’s a lizard!” the other boy practically shouts.

 

“Salamander,” Newt, who has never been very good at keeping his mouth shut when he should, mumbles in correction.

 

“What’s the difference?” the boy holding him grunts.

 

It’s not a question that actually wants an answer, Newt knows this, and yet he somehow can’t stop himself from blurting out “lizards are reptiles, and salamanders are amphibians.”

 

“Oh yeah?”  Before he can stop it from happening, the second boy has grabbed his hand and pried the helpless creature from his fingers.  “Well i’ve got it now, and I say it’s a lizard.”

 

Newt makes a hopeless jump for the creature, but the boy laughs and holds his hand way out of his reach.

 

“What’s going on here?” another voice disrupts the little scene - this one much higher-pitched.  Newt looks toward the new voice to find a young girl, more his own age, standing with her arms crossed (one hand clutching her wand) and a glare that could melt ice.

 

“What’s it to you?” the boy holding Newt snorts, finding hilarity in being confronted by a girl a third his size.

 

“Wait…” The other boy looks at the girl more closely.  “You’re the new Lestrange girl, aren’t you?”

 

“What’s it to you?” the girl throws their words back at them in a mocking tone.

 

“Aw, hell.  You are.” The girl doesn’t deny it.

 

This seems to startle the other boy, who drops Newt and takes a step back.  Newt tumbles to the ground but chooses to stay there, hoping to keep himself unnoticed in the confrontation happening before him.

 

The girl takes a few steps closer and holds out her hand.  “Give me whatever poor creature you’re tormenting.”

 

The older boy reluctantly gets close enough to unceremoniously drop the salamander into her hand, and then quickly retreats.  “C’mon,” he whispers to his friend as they make a hasty exit, “let’s get out of here before she hexes US into lizards.”

 

“Salamanders!” she calls after them, “and I wouldn’t disgrace their species by turning the likes of YOU into two of them!”

 

Newt looks up to find her eyes on him.  “You all right?” she asks.

 

“Um...yes.”  He pulls himself to his feet and dusts off his robe, more for something to do than because there’s much actual dirt.  “Thank you.”

 

She doesn’t acknowledge the thanks, only sets her mouth into a firm line that’s neither a frown nor anything that could be called a smile.  “My family has a reputation. I might as well use it when I can.” She turns away as she carefully sets the salamander down under the shrubs with a “go on, then.  You’re all right.” It wriggles under some old wet leaves to hide - thoroughly done with adventure for the day. “It’s just a little newt - he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

 

Newt stares at her in wonder, completely enchanted with the way she so carefully handled the little creature, even talked to it. 

 

“So,” she turns back to him, “what’s your name?”

 

“Um,” he feels the tips of his ears burning, and he can’t quite look straight at her,  “Newt.” He can practically feel the incredulous look she’s giving him, so he begins babbling.  “Well, Newton, actually, but...I like Newt. So, Newt. Um, Scamander.”

 

She looks even more incredulous, and he shrugs.  He can’t help his name. Then her brow furrows in recollection.  “Scamander?” She tilts her head at him, looking him over, as he’s still struggling to figure out just where exactly to look - at her or his feet.  “I’m assuming not the Scamander I’ve heard the other girls swoon over.”

 

“Do they really?” he snorted.  “No, that would be my brother, Theseus.  The perfect Scamander. I’m the strange, annoying one.”

 

“Well,” she replied, “I’ve only just met you, but I don’t think you’re annoying, or particularly strange, though I can’t really talk as I’m rather an outsider in my family as well.  You seem all right to me.”

 

Newt finally managed to settle his eyes on her face to find her smiling warmly at him.

 

“I’m Leta, by the way.  Does your defense of animalkind extend only to amphibians, or do you like other creatures as well?  I really like learning about magical creatures especially.”

 

He stares at her in surprise for a moment, and then slowly grins.

 

Maybe Hogwarts won’t be so lonely after all.

 

~~~~~~

 

Years later she comes to him one night while he’s reading in one of their secret secluded hiding spots in the castle (much more secluded than his original spot in the bushes.  He’s not supposed to be outside the Hufflepuff dormitory at this hour, but Newt was never one to care much about rules he thought were stupid). She’s agitated, jumpy, and can barely focus as she paces back and forth while he repeatedly tries to get her to sit down and tell him what’s wrong.

 

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says, distracted.  “I just...needed to get away.”

 

The concept is certainly not foreign to him, and he nods in understanding.  “Do you want me to leave? It’s past curfew anyway.”

 

She shakes her head, a little too quickly.  “No, you can stay. I thought I wanted to be alone, but...I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Something warm blooms in Newt’s chest at that.  He’s recently been thinking more and more about how much he cares about Leta, and what the nature of those feelings might be, exactly.  He’s pretty sure he loves her (in a different way than friendship, though he loves her in that way just as much). But she’s shown no signs of reciprocation, and so he keeps his feelings to himself.

 

“Are you sure you can’t tell me - “ he’s cut off as Leta drops to her knees and launches herself at him causing him to collapse against the wall with a soft “oof!”  His arms are suddenly full of her, and she is clutching his shirt as she buries her face in his neck. “ - what’s wrong?” he finishes in a squeak, not at all sure how to handle this new development.  He pats her back somewhat awkwardly. Neither are the type to display their friendly affection physically, and he’s somewhat at a loss as to how to comfort her.

 

She is silent.  Still clutching at him, still full of nervous energy, but unable, or unwilling, to talk to him.  He decides to guess.

 

“Was it Goyle again?” he questions, practically spitting out the name.  She tenses in his arms, and he’s sure he must’ve hit the nail on the head.  “I’ve told you not to listen to him. The things he’s saying about you aren’t true - you know it, I know it -”

 

“They are though,” she whispers.  “It is true. Everything he says. I did...I did go to bed with him.  I am a -”

 

“No!” he cuts her off.  “I won’t hear you speak of yourself that way, Leta.  Even if...even if the-the act itself occured,” Newt felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears, “he still has no right to say such things about you.”  Her confession stabs him in the heart, but if he’s honest with himself he’s not exactly shocked by it. He’s heard the rumors, he’s seen the way Leta reacts to them - with shame, not anger - and he’s suspected that there’s at least some truth to it all.  “If he had cared about you at all,” he continued, voice softening, “he would never be so vile. HE’S the disgrace, Leta, not you.”

 

She was still frantically clenching and unclenching her fingers into the material of his shirt, almost seeming unaware that she was doing it, but she lifted her head up to look at him, as if she was only just now fully aware that he was there.  “You care about me, don’t you Newt?”

 

“Of course.  You’re my only real friend, you know that.”

 

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you.”  It’s not a question.

 

“Never,” he answers anyway.

 

And suddenly EVERYTHING shifts, and her lips are on his, and he’s frozen and confused and panicked.  He’s never  _ really _ kissed anyone before, and he’s not sure exactly what to do, but Leta doesn’t seem to mind, and  _ oh, Merlin she’s kissing me _ is the only thought his mind is capable of producing at the moment.  He does his best to keep up, to mirror what she’s doing with her mouth, his heart hammering in his chest and his stomach flipping with hope and joy that she apparently returns the feelings he’s never dared mention.

 

Everything after that is a blur.  Leta is shoving him back against the wall and straddling his thighs, one hand hitching up her skirt as the other snakes under his shirt and brushes past the quivering muscles in his stomach and up to caress his bare chest, and he unconsciously bucks his hips against her as he gasps.  He can  _ feel _ her - the warmth of her even through the layers of fabric still between them, and he struggles to sort out the emotions and physical sensations bombarding him all at once as her whole body is sliding against his.  It’s too fast, too much, too soon, but his brain is frozen - helpless to stop it. He loves her, and he’s sure he must want this, though his thoughts of love and want are all twisted up with the dreadful feeling that this is somehow  _ wrong. _  Leta isn’t looking at him - it’s like she’s not really  _ here _ at all, but he can’t seem to speak in his overwhelmed state _. _  She’s rocking against him faster, eyes clenched shut and teeth gritted until suddenly she stops and shudders above him, her thighs clamping down around his own, and he’s unable to stop his own body’s shuddering physical release.  The feeling is good, his body tells him, but his heart is left wanting. Nothing feels the way he’s always imagined this should.

 

And then it’s all over.  She’s sliding away, adjusting her skirt, and staring at him, wide-eyed, as though she’s finally really  _ seeing _ him for the first time tonight.

 

“Newt…” she looks at him with something that looks a little like horror, a little like pity, and a lot like shame.  “I’m...I…” But instead of finishing whatever she’d been trying to say, she scurries away from him, stands, and flees.

 

“Leta?” he gently calls after her, but she is gone.  She’s gone, and he’s left leaning against the wall, shivering, and not only because of the cold stone at his back.  His insides feel all twisted up, like he might be sick, and he thinks that this is not the way this should have happened.  Something wasn’t right. He feels strange - hurt and confused and a little bit... _ used _ .

  
  
  


The next morning he fully realizes her strange mood of the night before as he’s unceremoniously hauled into the headmaster’s office.  A jarvey, it turns out, had been following around Gilbert Goyle, tormenting him with insults to the point that the boy had been found on top of the Astronomy tower, sobbing and threatening to jump.  The jarvey had stolen his wand and cornered him there. An anonymous person had alerted the head of Slytherin house, and the jarvey, still hissing and spitting the suggestion that Goyle should “kill yourself, you bastard,” had been silenced and contained with the flick of a wand while the sobbing boy was gently eased away from the tower’s edge.  Jarvies were not known for relentlessly choosing to target one individual person (they generally didn’t care about humans at all, and were more likely to hurl an insult as they walked in the other direction), and so the conclusion was that someone had trained it to do so.

 

Newt’s fondness for and proclivity toward magical beasts was well-known, as was his friendship with Leta and the rumors about her and Goyle that even the professors were not immune to hearing.  Add to that the fact that several of his Hufflepuff housemates had confirmed he’d been absent from their dormitory the previous evening, and naturally he’d been a prime suspect.

 

He knew now why Leta had been so upset.  Surely she’d never thought her little prank would go so far, and he was certain she had been the one to anonymously alert her head of house, though Newt still found himself reacting to the news with a mixture of horror and wonder - it was well-known that a jarvey simply  _ couldn’t _ be  _ trained _ .  Somehow she had managed it, though for an altogether revolting purpose (and  _ using _ any creature for harm was something Newt was vehemently opposed to).

 

With a different sort of horror he heard himself confessing to the crime, knowing that nothing good awaited Leta at home if she were to be forcibly removed from Hogwarts.  His family found him exasperating and strange, but they loved him, and he wasn’t sure the same could be said for Leta.

 

He’d been expelled, and he’s not seen or spoken to her since.  He’d tried writing letters, but after the third one went unanswered, he got the message and let her be.

 

* * *

 

He meets Kateryna during the war.  She is a maid at the tavern most-frequented by he and his fellow soldiers on the Eastern Front (though he’s not sure “soldier” really pertains to him, since he’s really more of a dragon consultant).  Her bright smile and warm laughter are a balm to his weary soul. She’s a muggle, but he gets the distinct impression that she sees through his attempts to lie about his military duties to preserve magical secrecy.  Perhaps she’s seen and heard more than she lets on. Perhaps he doesn’t care. War is hell, and if some men drink a little too much and talk a little too loudly….well, who is he to judge? With everything else that’s been going on in the world, keeping magic a secret seems such a small thing to be overly concerned about.

 

Kateryna is lovely, both inside and out, and he’s startled to discover that she’s apparently one of the rare humans who can draw him into conversation rather easily.  They often sit and talk by the fire late at night after her work is done, sharing drinks and smiles in a secluded corner booth in the near-empty tavern, and so perhaps it shouldn’t have come as too much of a shock when, on the night before he is due to go back to England, she leans over and kisses him.  The alcohol is warm in his belly, Kateryna’s lips are warm against his, and the worst of the war is over, so with a contented sigh he leans into the contact and allows her to deepen the kiss.

 

When she swings her leg over his and straddles his lap, however, he breaks away with a gasp.  The memory of the last time he saw Leta comes roaring back like a freight train, and he knows he can’t do this.  After his encounter with Leta, he’d made a vow to himself that the next time he engaged in any such act with another person, that it would be with someone who he was utterly committed to, and who was committed to him in return, and that they would both be  _ present _ and in full control of their faculties.  He feels strongly that he needed it to be an expression of love (though at this point in his life he isn’t at all sure he knows what love _is_ , but he thinks he has an inkling of what it _is_ _ n’t _ ).  He cares for Kat - could come to care for her a great deal more, he thinks, if things were different, but he knows their connection is a temporary one, and so he gently lifts her away and slides out from underneath her.

 

Confusion is evident on her face as he looks away with a sigh, trying to find the words to explain.  “I’m sorry, Kat, but I  _ can’t _ .”

 

One eyebrow raises in disbelief as she unabashedly glances toward the front of his trousers, where no doubt she’d felt the evidence of how their kissing had begun to affect him.  His face is flaming as he twists his lips in an awkward grimace.

 

“Well, I  _ can _ , but…”

 

“But you won’t,” she finishes for him, and he shrugs, helplessly.  “Is it me? You know I do not do this with every handsome English soldier who comes into the tavern, if that’s what you think…”

 

“No!” he cuts her off quickly, squeezing her hands in reassurance, “No, no no, that’s not what I think at all, I just…” he releases her hands and flops back with a sigh, suddenly feeling the weight of the war, of Leta, of his family’s disappointment and his future’s uncertainty all at once.

 

“Ah,” she says quietly, knowingly, “I’ve seen this before.  The flesh is willing but the spirit is weak, yes?”

 

He chuckles weakly.  It’s not entirely accurate, but it’s as good of a summary as any that he could attempt.  “Something like that.” He puffs out his cheeks in an embarrassed sigh. “I'm leaving tomorrow.  I’m sorry if you...I’m sorry that I can’t give you…” he waves his hand around awkwardly as he trails off, unsure of how to finish the thought.  Unsure if it sounds too  _ presumptuous _ of him to assume her level of want for  _ him _ of all people.

 

“I wouldn’t want to take what is not freely and completely given,” she smiled at him reassuringly.  

 

“Can we just talk?” he asks as he takes her hand in his - unwilling to relinquish all traces of her warmth.

 

“Of course.”  She smiles, and for the first time in a long time his heart is full of hope.  Perhaps they  _ could _ make something between them work.  Perhaps she’d be just what he needs to break the hold Leta still seems to have on his heart.  Perhaps after everything with the war settles down...

 

Well, perhaps.  He smiles.

 

Two days later, while in the middle of writing her a letter, he learns that her entire village has been obliviated as a precautionary measure.  No memories remain of strange soldiers drinking too much and spinning strange tales of dragons and magic. Just ordinary soldiers drowning the pain of an ordinary war.

 

Newt cries himself to sleep at the unfairness of it all, the unfinished letter crumpled in his hands.

 

\------------------------------------

 

And now there’s Tina - brave, brash, infuriating,  _ wonderful _ Tina - standing before him on a dock as he finds himself once again saying goodbye to someone he cares for.  He’s not sure he’s ever been more wrong about a person on a first impression, but he’s so thankful that he was.  It scares him, a little, the intensity of what he thinks he could feel for her after such a short time together, but he sees that same wonderful breathless giddy fear reflected back in her face, and it fills him with enough reassurance and bravery to reach out and gently brush his fingers along her hair - the back of his thumb caressing the softness of her cheek as he does - and he’s certain that the look on his face must be terrified reverence.  He hadn’t been able to stop his instinct to evade difficult subjects when she’d asked about Leta, because at that moment Leta was the last person he wanted to think about. But he owed Tina something of an explanation, something of a reassurance that his heart is completely free for the taking...and perhaps he even fully believes it himself this time. Queenie had failed to notice the layer of dust on the photograph, and he hadn’t known quite how to explain that the portrait was there because it had been there for so long that it had simply become a part of the room.  Because people did change, and he was certain that he wasn’t the same lovesick boy he’d been back then. No, it was Tina on his mind at that moment, and for nearly every moment over the past several days, it seemed. But touching her, standing so close to her...it’s too much all of a sudden. Emotions have never been something he’s been good at dealing with, and mix them up with human social interaction and he’s completely at a loss. Without knowing what else to say, he averts his eyes and retreats, wanting nothing more than to run to the safety of his room on the ship and into his case to process all of his feelings in private.

 

But he stops.  He needs something else.  He thinks he’s not misread the situation...he thinks his budding affections are mutual, but he wants...he  _ needs _ something to reassure him - both of them, maybe - that he’d still be welcomed back into her life if the opportunity arose.  He finds it - the perfect excuse - and he rushes back to ask how she’d feel about him giving her her copy of his book in person.  It’s a struggle to meet her eyes for fear of...rejection? He’s not sure exactly what he fears, but when he finally pulls his gaze to her face he finds her smiling warmly - eyes glistening, and his heart soars.   _ She’d like that - very much! _ And he quirks his lips in a relieved smile before ducking away again.

 

He stops again when he’s halfway up the gangplank.  Should he have kissed her? Should he go back and do it now?  Would he look ridiculous rushing back to her a second time? Does he look ridiculous  _ right now _ standing here like a bloody statue?  It’s silly of him, he knows, and he’s never been a superstitious man, but he thinks back to everyone who has ever kissed him before they’ve parted ways, and he’s never seen any of them again.  He can’t bear the thought of Tina falling into that category. He also knows that, for all her bravery on the job, her heart is guarded just as much as his, and a kiss is no doubt something neither of them are ready for.  Not now, when he’s about to leave. Not to mention that he’s never actually initiated a kiss before and has no idea how exactly to do so. So he squares his shoulders, sighs, and steadfastly continues onto the ship.

 

Tina, he thinks, with warmth blossoming in his chest,  _ will _ be someone he sees again.  And when he does kiss her, it’ll have been worth the wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Un-fun fact: I had originally planned for Leta and Newt to go a lot further than they (she) did, which would have tipped it from dubcon to someplace I wasn't comfortable going. It didn't sit right with me, and so I shoved this aside and did nothing with it for months. I wanted something that would explain Queenie's comments that they were "very close" while also explaining how she was "a taker," and would explain Newt's hurting as well as his embarrassed/awkward reaction, but I didn't want to make Leta out to be a monster either. What she did was wrong, but I wanted to frame it more as her taking advantage of the feelings she absolutely knew Newt harbored for her for the sake of taking some physical comfort, and for her to have immediate remorse. Her silence toward him is born of shame, rather than them having any sort of fight and/or her throwing the friendship away.
> 
> I also headcanon Newt as a romantic asexual - maybe demi or gray - hence why emotional attachment/commitment is so important to him before he considers a sexual relationship. I don't see that as a trait born of trauma from his encounter with Leta, but rather something that he comes to realize is a part of him due to the lack of emotional intimacy he felt with her during the act.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think.


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